Three's a Crowd
by SouffleGirlAfterAll
Summary: In which Clara makes a new friend, and the Doctor being the Doctor can't help but find himself getting just a tiny bit jealous. (Okay maybe a really big bit). Fluffy 11/Clara oneshot - Enjoy! :)


A/N - Another Eleven/Clara oneshot, woohoo :D A bit of jealous Doctor for you all, along with plenty of pointless Whouffle fluff and feels because I'm completely obsessed. Hooray! It's probably the longest one I've written, so I really hope you enjoy it :) Thank you so much Phoebe (PhoebeLovesSouffle) and Georgia (hospitalforsouls) for proof reading this for me, it means so much to have your support xxx

Please do drop me a review if you liked (or didn't like) it, I love hearing from you :) And if by chance you did enjoy it, please check out my other oneshots if you have the time - it means a lot :D xxx

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**Three's a Crowd**

Something isn't right; the Doctor can feel it.

He has a terrible knack for sensing when things aren't as they should be, and an even more terrible knack for always being very right. The TARDIS' control room is humming quietly, and everything seems to be normal, but the Doctor can't shake the unsettling feeling that he isn't alone. Clara went off for a shower after they got back from spending a surprisingly uneventful (they didn't actually have to save the universe for once) but nonetheless pleasant day together in 17th century France, so he knows he's being stupid because there's nobody else on board the TARDIS that could be in here with him.

But still, the little nagging feeling persists.

"Hello? Anyone there?" the Doctor calls, his fingers drumming nervously on the control panel. He feels kind of stupid afterwards, because if there's anything sinister hiding then it's hardly going to stand up and go 'yep, over here mate' when he asks, so the silence that follows does little to reassure him.

The Doctor jumps as a thud echoes around the room. He spins just in time to see a white blur disappearing under the console, leaving a toppled-over umbrella stand in its wake. He freezes, searching for any sign of the creature in the dim light. The room is still deadly quiet, even the controls have fallen silent now as the Doctor edges closer to where the creature disappeared. Crouching down carefully, he peers under the control desk and in among the wires that are tangled underneath. There's a pair of bright yellow eyes glaring back at him.

"What are you?" he asks quietly, rubbing his chin. "How did you get in?"

The Doctor fishes his sonic screwdriver out of his back pocket and reaches his hand under the console toward the creature, waiting for the readings to confirm the imposter's identity. Before he can retract it though, he feels the sudden sting of something sharp cutting into his skin and the creature shoots out of the darkness. Reacting instantaneously, the Doctor cries out but manages to twist round and grab the thing by the scruff of the neck, his face contorting with confusion when he realises the writhing thing in his hands is a large, white, clearly very pissed off, cat.

"Doctor!" Clara skids into the room, obviously having heard his cry of pain. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes widen when she sees what he's holding, and she quickly makes a sharp turn back the way she came.

"Oswald," the Doctor says warningly, because now he knows exactly how this cat got here. Unfortunately while wandering the streets of Paris hand in hand and just chatting on about everything and nothing, Clara had come across and befriended the stray. It was quite a talent, how easily Clara could make friends with literally just about any living thing that met her. Unfortunately for him, the little bugger had not taken quite so kindly to the Doctor, as proved by the look it was giving him now.

She reluctantly trudges back to him, a guilty expression on her face. "I thought I'd locked the bedroom door; I didn't mean for him to escape!"

"What is it even doing here?" the Doctor asks, thrusting the hissing feline into Clara's arms, where it immediately calms down, snuggling into her damp hair and purring.

"Well I couldn't leave him on the street in France!" Clara protests, scratching the furry bundle's head affectionately. "Look how cute he is!"

The Doctor can't have ever seen an uglier cat in his life. Its fluffy white face is all squashed in, one ear has a chunk taken out of it, and the brute's giving him the dirtiest look he can imagine a cat possibly can. "I can't believe you smuggled it in here."

"I knew you'd say no if I asked so I had to," Clara grins. "Can we keep him?"

"No!" the Doctor says, confirming her prediction. "Certainly not!"

Clara shifts her grip on the cat and it clambers up onto her shoulders, draping itself over her like a fluffy scarf. "And why not?" she asks, folding her arms.

"Well, because, look at it! It's evil!" He reaches for a cloth on the console desk to try and staunch the steady trickle of blood running through his fingers, which he wiggles in front of Clara's face by way of explanation.

"Oh don't be silly," Clara laughs, taking his hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the part not covered in blood. "He only bit you because you scared him. If you take the time to get to know him, he'll love you! And I remember a certain someone saying exactly the same thing to me when I had to make friends with a bloody _spaceship_."

The Doctor would rather have to make friends with a psychotic Dalek than this cat, but she has a point. Plus, Clara's eyes are so pleading, and he's never been able to resist letting her get her way. If Clara wants a cat, she will get that cat and there's nothing he can do about it.

"Fine," he finally mutters. "It can stay. But any trouble and we're taking it right back to the 17th century where it belongs!"

"Thank you!" Clara says brightly, placing the cat on the floor. She skips over and presses a kiss to his lips. "You won't regret it!"

-X-

"Clara!" the Doctor shouts in the general direction of the kitchen, where she's no doubt attempting another of her still disastrous soufflés. That bloody cat is under his feet again; running off with tools in his mouth and batting the wires around with his paws that the Doctor is trying so hard to fix. It's evidently doing everything it possibly can to test the Doctor's patience. "Come and deal with this thing!"

He sees her feet approaching, and a moment later she ducks down to where he's sitting. Clara arches an eyebrow.

"He's not a 'thing'," she frowns. "He's called Ozzy. Ozzy Oswald."

"Oh is he now?" the Doctor says irritably, putting down his screwdriver. After two days of indecision, she's finally settled on a name for it. "Can you please just keep him somewhere else?"

Clara's expression hardens. "I don't know why you have to be so moody. It's just a cat for God's sake and he only wants to play with you, so why can't you just be nice to him? He's done nothing to you!"

The Doctor hates it when Clara gets mad, but before he can say anything else she scoops Ozzy up in her arms and stalks off. He swears he sees a flicker of a smirk on its furry little face before it disappears from view.

"Stupid thing," he mutters, wiping his brow.

He knows he is being unnecessarily grouchy about the cat, and it is unfair on Clara. But she's spent so much time with it these past couple of days that he can't help but resent the cat. It always seems to be there, curled on Clara's lap or ready to interrupt as soon as the Doctor gets any time alone with her. Plus, it gives him death glares to rival Donna Noble's. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that cat was out to steal Clara away from him altogether. And any time the Doctor does try to show it any signs of forced affection, all he receives in return was an addition to his growing collection of bite and scratch marks. Sighing, he picks up the screwdriver and distracts himself with the mechanics once more.

Later that night, after Clara's gone to bed (he thought it best to leave her alone for a while before joining her in case she was still angry), the Doctor finds himself sat alone in the library. He's made himself a nice cup of tea and is trying to concentrate on a book when he hears the little patter of paws. Sure enough, when he looks up, Ozzy is sat glaring at him again (does that thing have any other facial expression?), looking rather smug.

"Are you happy?" the Doctor asks crossly. "Now she's angry at me because of you!"

The cat just swishes his fluffy white tail, and cocks his head to one side.

"Well good for you."

Ozzy licks a paw and starts washing behind his ear, and the Doctor swears the amount of noise the thing is making has got to be deliberate.

"Can't I even have my library to myself?" the Doctor groans, slamming his book down with unnecessary force. When the cat continues to clean himself, the Doctor heaves himself out of his chair. "I guess not."

He takes the opportunity to sneak back to the bedroom, wondering whether Clara will still be awake so that he can attempt to apologise for his stupid behaviour. Slipping through the open doorway as quietly as he can, he sees her sleeping soundly, facing away from him. And to his horror, that damn cat is curled up on the Doctor's side of the bed, purring away with a look on its face that clearly says 'touch me and I'll claw your eyes out'. The Doctor's mouth drops open. How did it get there so fast?

_The little Dalek._

-X-

The next morning, the Doctor wakes up on the sofa in one of the TARDIS's many living rooms, his back all cramped up and ego suitably tarnished to match.

"Doctor?"

He strains his head towards the door. Clara's standing there in her pyjama shorts and t-shirt, Ozzy winding himself around her bare legs. The sleepy look in her eyes has not yet been shaken off, and she looks so sweet lingering in the doorway that the Doctor aches for her even more.

Clara glances at the blanket strewn over him. "Why did you sleep in here?"

She looks worried. The Doctor suddenly feels awful, and he wishes he'd just moved the cat after all. He and Clara bicker all the time, but they always move past it almost straight away, and he can't remember the last time they slept apart. Why did he have to be so juvenile about that bloody cat?

"I wasn't planning on it... The cat was there," he says lamely. "And you were mad."

"I wasn't mad," Clara says softly, sitting down beside him. "You should have just shoved him off, for goodness' sake. What's up with you?"

The Doctor blushes, because only now does the reason seem so ridiculous.

Clara reads him like a book, and a smirk of realisation creeps onto her face. "Oh... you're _jealous,_ aren't you!"

"No!" the Doctor says defensively. Clara gives him a look and he relents. "Well..."

"You are!" Clara gasps. "You're actually jealous of the cat! Oh yeah, because a cat's _definitely_ plotting to steal me from my boyfriend."

"Shut up!"

"Oh god," she laughs. "You're such an idiot!"

The Doctor is crestfallen for a moment, but then Clara takes his chin in her hands and kisses him, still giggling a little against his mouth.

"You're _my _idiot though," she murmurs, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I can't believe you. As if I'd replace you with a cat! I love _you_, chinboy."

An involuntary smile spreads across his face. Nobody else could call him that like Clara does. "So we can get rid of it?" the Doctor asks sweetly, leaning in for another kiss.

Clara smirks, and she puts a finger against his lips before he can try to persuade her. "Nice try. The cat's here to stay, so get used to it! Look, was scattering myself across your timeline to save your sorry arse a thousand times not enough to prove that I love you, or would you like me to do more?"

The Doctor taps her on the nose, grinning. "I can think of a few things."

"Oh I bet you can, mister."

She lets his lips meet hers this time, and in that moment, the Doctor can't begin to imagine anything more perfect than the woman before him right now, still giggling between kisses and just being so... _Clara_. And for a moment, all thoughts of the cat are almost lost between them, but as if on cue, a loud crash resounds from somewhere down the corridor. They both freeze, pulling apart in confusion before they realise.

"I should probably go and see..."

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "You probably should."

"I don't want to..." Clara looks guilty as she disentangles herself from him.

"No, no, go," he smirks. "Just don't tell me he's gone and torn up the whole bloody control room, or I will not be responsible for the little devil finding himself floating in orbit after he gets kicked straight out the door."

"You wouldn't," Clara grins, swatting him as she stands up. Before she runs off to check on the cat though, Clara leans back down and kisses his forehead. "I'll be right back."

-X-

A good half an hour later and she still hasn't returned though, so the Doctor decides it's probably best that he goes and sees what's up. He's already got a pretty good idea though, and it has a lot to do with Clara's occasional loud swearing followed by more crashes. In fact, he isn't even surprised when he enters the control room to find Clara sat on the floor amidst a tangle of wires and an upended tool box with its contents spilt out across the floor, and a very proud-looking Ozzy perched neatly atop the console, a look of pure complacency etched onto his face.


End file.
